Children of the Dawn Read online

  From terror, pain, and the struggle to survive had also come good: the grandfather Ehr, with his love and wisdom. Seasons alone with Kai El in the cave hidden behind the waterfall—to teach, love, and know her son as no Shahala mother ever had.

  It all seemed marked with Destiny’s handprint.

  Still, it was hard to forgive Tor for what he’d done to them. But Ashan loved her soulmate enough to forgive him; he was young, and just a man. Tor had meant to return to the Home Cave by winter. But by autumn, he was a slave. Three summers had passed before she’d seen him again.

  See what dreaming did for him, Ashan thought.

  While they were apart, Tor had found the “Great River” of his dreams. After they were reunited with the tribe, he would praise it to anyone who’d listen:

  “Chiawana… Mother of Water. Wider than the flat top of Kalish Ridge. Choked with fish. On its shore, a new home for the People of the Wind, Amotkan’s favorite tribe, whose old home has died with the dying of horses. A home that does not know hunger, where sunshine and rain are in balance… ”

  If anyone asked about the tribe who already lived there, he would say, “Don’t worry. I know these Tlikit. They are simple drylanders. They fear me. I am a god to them.”

  Ashan pulled a grass stem from a clump beside her and chewed its end. Though it was autumn, there was still a crisp bit of moisture in its fiber. She noticed the wind again.

  Tlikit, she thought, shaking her head. What an odd name for a tribe, the sound a tree locust makes. But two bugs caught in the spiderweb of Destiny will share the same future.

  Tor had talked on and on about the Great River, but not much about the Tlikit people. Now Ashan wished she had made him tell her more—maybe she would feel prepared to meet them.

  Raga would know what to do, she thought. The Old Moon-keeper had a plan for everything, plans for things that might never happen.

  But Raga died for the last time before this journey began. Her ashes rested in the ancestral burial ground near Anutash. Ashan, the old woman’s successor, sometimes felt too young—even at twenty-two summers—to wear the Moon-keeper’s robe, and the responsibility that went with it.

  I should be able to talk to Tenka about this. She is the Other Moonkeeper.

  With a sigh, Ashan remembered coming home to Anutash after all that time… finding Raga near death, and Tor’s sister Tenka ready to lead the tribe… as if Tenka could lead a child.

  The Old Moonkeeper had lived long enough to tell the people:

  “In the changing world, a tribe needs two Moonkeepers, not one. Listen to Tenka. She is the shaman who speaks with spirits. Follow Ashan. She is your chief.”

  After Raga died, Ashan became “the Moonkeeper,” and the tribe followed their new chief. Tenka became “the Other Moonkeeper,” but they didn’t ask anything of their new shaman. Tenka did her best, but the girl was weak in many ways.

  Ashan looked to the darkening sky.

  “Raga, we are here at the Great River. What now?”

  She waited for an answer. A star appeared, then another. She heard silence, felt cold wind, tasted water in the air. But no answer came. Sometimes, the Old Moonkeeper’s spirit would visit her, but on this twilight at the edge of the new beginning, Raga chose to be somewhere else.

  The Moonkeeper Ashan returned to the desolate spot on the plains where her people would spend the night, and walked among them to see that all was well. Women were doing the work of evening. Tor sat with a group of men, talking about the end of the journey, the Great River, the tribe called Tlikit—new land, new life, new brothers and sisters—what would it all be like? Ashan heard relief, anticipation, and fear in their voices.

  In the center of the camp, where they would sleep together, the little ones played a quiet guessing game with Tenka.

  Yes, Ashan thought, there’s my boy.

  The best-looking child ever, his mother was sure. Kai El was five summers—hard to believe—little ones grew so fast. His sturdy body reminded her of a little oak tree. His face was still baby-pudgy, but he could get a determined look in his dark eyes and the set of his mouth. Or he could melt her with baby love eyes and flower bud lips.

  Mother and son smiled at each other as she walked by. She would have liked a hug, but he was too old for that in front of his friends.

  Tor had put their packs and travel poles a short distance from the others. Ashan took sleeping skins from the packs—a huge grizzled bear from his for the bottom, a smaller black bear from hers for the top. It would be good to nestle between the furs and rest. But the load on her travel poles had come unbalanced. There would be enough to do in the morning without having to repack them.

  Travel poles were made from two long, slender trunks of light, flexible alder. Short pieces held them apart. Leather straps spanned the open space. A person’s belongings and a share of the tribe’s were heaped on the straps and tied down. Once only warriors pulled travel poles, but on this journey, there was so much to carry that all but the youngest and the oldest pulled them.

  Ashan’s travel poles—lighter than some, more important than any—carried the tribe’s sacred things.

  She untied the knots in the leather ropes. It felt good to hold familiar treasures in her hands. They gave her strength. The white tail of Kusi, the Horse Spirit, given to the First People in the Misty Time. The ceremonial robe of furs and feathers in its painted horseskin cover. A bear skull with the time balls of long-dead Moonkeepers. Rattles of deer hoof and turtle shell; bird wings, throwing bones, and other pieces of magic. Many kinds of medicine; not knowing what this land would provide, she’d brought all she could. She also had the tools of a woman: baskets, bowls, plates, cups, blades, grinding and scraping stones.

  She finished repacking and lay back on the bearskin, snuggling into softness.

  It was almost dark when Tor came. He stood over her, hands on hips, smiling like a man who had found a herd of mammoths long after people thought they died out. Here he was, right at the edge of his dream. Had Ashan ever seen him look happier?

  “Hello, my love,” he said in a lustful voice.

  “Hello, Sweetmate,” she answered in the same tone. She was tired, but that special energy stirred in her.

  “You look like a flameflower to a hummingbird,” he said. “I’m the hummingbird, and I’m starving.”

  “You don’t look like a bird to me. You look like a man.” She said man as if there was nothing better. And was there?

  Tor slowly untied the laces of his shirt and shrugged it off. After all this time, Ashan still loved looking at his body.

  “Mmm,” she said. “That broad chest, all curves and shadows and lines. Those shoulders, those muscles. Those arms.”

  She loved saying these things, and he loved hearing them. Bending over to show his firm rear, he took off his leggings, and flexed his thighs. The wind played with his loinskin.

  “Had enough watching, woman?”

  “I will never have enough.”

  He lay beside her, and pulled the bearskin over them so only their heads were showing. She felt his body heat through her leathers. His hands crept over her skirt until they found a way inside. He stroked her thigh. The tingling energy in her lower belly turned to heat. His hand moved up and touched her with the practice of a longtime mate.

  “Turn on your side,” he whispered.

  “It isn’t dark yet.”

  “Close your eyes. Then it’s dark.”

  “People will see us.”

  “Danger makes it even better.”

  She turned on her side, pulled up her knees. Tor snuggled close behind, holding her tight, fondling her breasts. He entered her, moving slowly, deeply, until the silent explosion came.

  Waves were running through her body and her head was spinning, when she heard a voice.

  “Moonkeeper?”

  She sat up, cleared her throat.

  “Mosscakes, Moonkeeper?” Tashi asked. “There’s meat from yesterday’s kill, but you said no fi
re. And these grass stems? I picked them for you.”

  “Thank you, Tashi,” Ashan said. “You are kind.”

  When the woman left, Ashan said to Tor: “All that water, so close, and my people have to chew grass for their thirst.”

  “It’s almost over, my love. I promise.”

  He had said those words before. But this time she did smell water in the air.

  CHAPTER 3

  DEFORE IT WAS COMPLETELY DARK, ALHAIA THE MOON arose—huge and glowing, dusty golden, in the way of a full autumn moon—soon after Kai, the Sun, descended, taking with him what little warmth he’d given.

  Close to Tor under furs, leaning against travel poles, gazing at the wide sky filling up with stars, Ashan didn’t mind the cold.

  “This Great River,” she said. “How far is it?”

  “What does your nose say, oh chief who understands the languages of nature?”

  “Be serious, Tor. How far?”

  “You cross a few more hills. Then there it is, down in a gorge.” His voice softened with memory. “A trail takes you down to the place where we’ll live. I named it Together Teahra. I wonder if the Tlikit still call it that?”

  “Maybe they don’t live there anymore,” Ashan said, thinking that would be fine with her.

  “Teahra has everything. They wouldn’t leave.”

  “Maybe we should wait. Or go up the river, or down the river. Settle somewhere else. Leave the Tlikit alone.”

  “Ashan, our dreams were different, but they had the same end: people of both tribes living together at the Great River.”

  “I know, Tor. But how will we get them to want to live together?”

  “That I don’t know.”

  Ashan shook her head, annoyed. “Where are your promises now? How much help are you going to be? You lived with them. I thought you’d know more.”

  “I haven’t told you everything,” he warned.

  Without ever speaking of it, both knew there were things Ashan wouldn’t want to hear. So she asked questions carefully, learning enough to make a plan, while not learning anything that would hurt her heart.

  “How many are there?”

  He had to think. “About ten hands.”

  “What about guards?”

  Tor shook his head. “They think they’re the only people in the world. Even if they wanted to, the place is impossible to guard. There’s more than one way through the cliffs.”

  Good for now, Ashan thought. Bad for later. If the Tlikit couldn’t guard Teahra, how could the Shahala?

  “These Tlikit people… are they good, or bad?”

  “A hard question. I have seen kindness and savagery.”

  “What makes the difference?”

  Tor shrugged. “There was much about them I never understood. At first they treated me like a god, even called me by the name of one: Wahawkin, the Water Giver, a trickster, like Coyote Spirit. They believe this Wahawkin stole the water from the lake where they lived.”

  Ashan said, “I always thought it was strange that anyone could look at you and see a god.”

  “I don’t think it’s so strange,” he said. “But later, they turned mean and used me as a slave. I would have died if one of their little ones hadn’t helped me escape.”

  Ashan doubted it. “People might argue and fight, but they don’t kill each other… except for man-eaters… ”

  “You don’t know them.”

  “I’m trying. But you only told me good things. You never said they were killers.”

  “I’m telling you now: I would have died at their hands. That’s why I took the boy with me when I got away.”

  “How many did they kill when you were there?”

  “None. But I think they would have killed him for letting me go.”

  She still had trouble believing such a thing.

  “I wonder if they still want to kill him?” she said. “It was two summers ago.”

  “I hope not, but I don’t know. Once you make people that angry, it might take more than time to forget. That’s why we have to be careful about how we do this.”

  Ashan nodded. “So. Our new brothers and sisters, with their mix of good and bad—”

  Tor interrupted in a firm voice.

  “Listen, Ashan: This is what we must do. I know a way down into the canyon, so they won’t hear us coming. We’ll wait until they’re full from eating, then walk right up on them. Can you imagine how shocked they’ll be to see the whole Shahala tribe? With our warriors in front, fierce with paint, showing our weapons? We are sixteen hands; they are fewer than ten. They’re smart enough to fear us.”

  “That’s a terrible idea. One hand should not be made to fear the other.”

  “You don’t understand how simple they are. How different from us. You never know what they’ll do. We must use the strength of how many we are, until they accept our ways.”

  “But the spirits say we must work together, like bees in a nest, or geese in a flock.”

  “You may understand this, my love, but no one has told the Tlikit.”

  “I am the Moonkeeper of Amotkan’s favorite tribe. I refuse to lead my people down there like a tribe of man-eaters. What about Elia? He could go first and tell them about us. He’d do anything for you.”

  Tor sighed. “I know.”

  Elia was the boy who had helped Tor escape from the Tlikit tribe. The Shahala thought he was just a lost boy who wandered into Anutash one day, but Tor had told Ashan the real story.

  The Tlikit called one child the “kicking child,” and treated him almost as a slave. His name was Chimnik, their word for “spoiled food.” When he and Tor were free, he changed his name to Elia, Shahala word for “friend.” He and Tor became close as they searched for Ashan and Kai El. When Tor lost hope, he left Elia near Anutash for the Shahala to find.

  Never loved by his own people, Elia was loved by his new people as if he’d been bora to them. Most of all by the one who took him to raise: Tor’s father, Arth. Elia helped fill the hole in Arth gouged out by the death of his second son Beo at the hands of man-eaters, and deepened when his mate, Luka, had chosen to stop living.

  Elia loved Tor and would do anything for him.

  “Well,” Ashan said, “what about sending the boy?”

  “I can’t. They still might want to kill him.”

  “What kind of people would kill children?”

  “Tlikit people.”

  Ashan sighed. “Oh, Tor… how will this ever work?”

  “I know another way,” he said. “I will go alone.”

  “No.”

  Ashan would not send her beloved mate into the village of savages with no magic to protect him.

  “If this is not work for a Moonkeeper, what will ever be? When the sun rises, you and I will go together.”

  The round moon crept up the sky and began its descent. The long night was silent, but for the keening wind and the distant cries of a coyote.

  Ashan could not sleep. Warm under bearskin, she snuggled against her mate, enjoying the firmness of his muscles, and the way his backside fit the curve of her stomach—feelings to make her forget almost anything.

  But not tonight. Worries about tomorrow crawled through her mind like cave bugs through bat dung.

  She could tell that Tor was awake by his uneven breathing.

  “Sweetmate?” she whispered.

  “Mmm?”

  “You say it isn’t far, this Tlikit village?”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Could you and I walk there tonight?”

  “We could.”

  “Can we see where they live without them seeing us?”

  “Yes. Do you want to?”

  Tor waited for her answer, but the word “yes” stuck in her throat.

  The Moonkeeper must protect her tribe, and it might help if she could see what they faced. But it troubled the mother to leave her son… her baby, she still thought of Kai El, though he was five summers now.

  We were away from
people all that time; everything to each other; never apart I would die without him.

  Ashan knew she shouldn’t worry. The Shahala valued and protected little ones above everything, because they were the future. Out here in the tabu land, they slept in a cluster at the center of camp surrounded by their elders. But still… she would never be comfortable with Kai El out of sight, had come too close to losing him.

  Ashan pictured the heap of little ones: tangled arms and legs, some heads showing, some hidden under sleeping skins. Like the litters often coyotes, she thought No telling which pup is mine. She took a deep breath and sent a thought to Kai El: Amah will be back soon.

  “I want to go,” she whispered to Tor.

  “Make yourself warm,” he said

  She looked at the moonbright sky. In autumn and winter, clear nights were the coldest.

  “I will,” she said.

  Under the cover of the bearskin, Ashan pulled on leather moccasins and leggings, and a rabbit pelt robe with the fur inside. She had to get out to lace and fasten, and nearly froze by the time she finished. The wind snatched her hair, so she tied it with a thong and tucked the ends into her robe. She wrapped a fox pelt around her head and neck. Finally, she was warm.

  She gazed at the tribe.

  “Look at them: Unmoving mounds. How can they sleep with tomorrow’s unknown hanging over them?”

  “People have a Moonkeeper to do their worrying for them,” Tor answered, fastening his bison robe.

  The Moonkeeper and her mate left the camp and headed in the direction Warmer. They hadn’t gone far when moonlight fell on a path.

  “Right where I remembered,” Tor said.

  “I guess they still live here,” Ashan said, looking at trampled grass.

  “I never doubted it. Why move? As I told you, everything is here that could ever be needed.”

  Holding hands, they walked along the path, absorbed in their own thoughts. Aromas of water and fish grew stronger. Ashan sniffed for smoke, was glad not to find it… a good sign the Tlikit were sleeping.